Shoot Willy

        The main event of the day’s a tour with Willy. Willy is an elderly German who convinced my dad to bring us all on his “4 for the price of 1” tour, which was supposed to consist of a banana plantation, Indian home, waterfall, and iguana farm. The banana tour consists of pulling over to the side of the road near a plantation, the Indians had a TV, the waterfall is too shallow to swim in, and the iguana farm includes a hike through lots of mud. The high points for me were holding a poison dart frog and seeing my mom nearly bite it into a pile of mud while emitting a “whoo-woo-whoo-woo” most similar to noises of the 3 Stooges. Another point of note is Willy’s alternately obscenity-laden (“I don’t know why they fight over them bitches”) and xenophobic (“all the Chinese are here because they came to build the railroad”) but always neverending explanations. My feelings about Willy and his tour are summed up in the look Carla shot him with after he chastised her with “you don’t want to swim in the waterfall, you don’t want to hold the plant, you don’t want to do anything today!” Willy stops his car and runs across the street to chat up a former girlfriend probably not even half his age and I wish he’d elope with her right then, ending this tour(ture) that is the worst $210 we’ve ever spent.
        Willy’s idiocy eats up too much of the day, but I do get in a nice run on the beach that makes me wish I could call this paradise home. One of the better dinners I’ve had here and a surprisingly peaceful familial game of poker later, we have lights out not much later than the sun.

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